Winter Seascape

The sea runs back against itself

    With scarcely time for breaking wave

To cannonade a slatey shelf

    And thunder under in a cave

Before the next can fully burst.

    The headwind, blowing harder still,

Smooths it to what it was at first—

    A slowly rolling water-hill.

Against the breeze the breakers haste,

    Against the tide their ridges run

And all the sea’s a dappled waste

    Criss-crossing underneath the sun.

Far down the beach the ripples drag

    Blown backward, rearing from the shore,

And wailing gull and shrieking shag

    Alone can pierce the ocean roar.

Unheard, a mongrel hound gives tongue,

    Unheard are shouts of little boys:

What chance has any inland lung

    Against this multi-water noise?

Here where the cliffs alone prevail

    I stand exultant, neutral, free,

And from the cushion of the gale

    Behold a huge consoling sea.